


No escape

by Oriberry



Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: F/M, Storybrooke, They're hot and bothered
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-18
Updated: 2018-11-18
Packaged: 2019-08-25 12:23:15
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,375
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16661105
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Oriberry/pseuds/Oriberry
Summary: It's not exactly how either Gold or Belle saw their Friday night playing out because ending up stuck in a lift with your ex when you've parted on bad terms is never much fun.





	No escape

He can’t believe it.

This is all he fucking needs. Stuck in the library lift on a Friday night in July when the day temperature was easily hitting ninety degrees and even though it’s now past seven o’clock in the evening, it’s not that much cooler.

He should never have offered to drop off some boxes filled with books, and he should have certainly left well alone when he’d been asked if he could take a look at the panel of buttons because one or two of them were ‘jamming’.

Gold winces as his ex-girlfriend frantically jabs at every button in a haphazard fashion.

“That’s really not helping,” he advises and is rewarded by a withering glance that dances off him like water off a duck’s back. 

“When I want your advice I’ll ask for it,” she says sarcastically, before returning to her seemingly new favourite activity of mistreating the ancient brass buttons. He can now easily understand why they’d been jamming in the first place

Gold watches her in silence for a few moments but he tries again. “Belle. For the love of God, you’re going to make things worse if you carry on doing that. It’s broken, it’s just how it is. Someone’s going to notice you’re missing soon enough.”

Another glare is fired in his direction.

“Oh well that’s just typical of you, isn’t it? Just giving up on something like –“ and she clicks her fingers in his face, “that.”

Now it’s Gold turn to glare. His is much more effective than Belle’s, whose face now sports a faintly embarrassed look. He’s quick to follow through on his minor victory. “Oh yes, now is really the time to throw our failed relationship in my face. Thanks for that,” he snaps. 

But his blow’s not fatal and Belle is fighting back. “Well at least I’m trying to do something rather than just sitting there moping and hoping someone’s going to come and find us.” She gives the ‘open’ button one more firm press but when nothing apart from an protesting buzz happens, Belle sighs and then says in what Gold thinks is an attempt at optimism, “I’m supposed to be meeting Ruby and Mary Margaret at the Rabbit Hole at nine o’clock so they’ll come looking for me when I don’t show up.”

“Best make ourselves comfortable then,” Gold replies and watches as Belle lets herself slide down onto the floor on the opposite side of their small jail cell to where he is sitting, legs stretched out in front of him. He sees how careful she is to avoid her feet brushing against his and can’t help thinking sadly of happier times when he got to enjoy the benefits of Belle’s tactile nature and the constant need for bodily warmth.

The bottom of the lift is filthy dirty, years – decades in fact – of grime and dust engrained in the wooden floor. Belle’s wearing a mint green sundress he’s not seen before, which cues another pang of hurt that claws in his chest at the thought of how he knows so little of Belle’s life now. Going on shopping sprees in Boston and New York had been one of their not-so-secret guilty pleasures, Gold ensconced in an arm chair drinking champagne watching Belle waltz around in silk, velvet and chiffon and high heels, admiring her shapely legs and the way the fabric clung to her tiny waist and pert behind and then getting to reap the rewards of his devotion in a luxury suite, in a bath tub filled with bubbles, out on the balcony with city views.

He shrugs off his Armani jacket and silently offers it to Belle, trying not to think about the dry cleaning bill. Gold’s generosity is rewarded with a tentative smile and he watches as she carefully places it, lining facing downwards, before sitting herself down.

00000

Seven thirty.

“Constantly checking your watch is not going to make them come any quicker.”

Seven thirty one.

Pace. Tap. Pace. Tap.

Gold’s bad ankle has seized up so he’s having to walk round and round the lift to try and ease the dull ache. 

“I’m going to have Regina’s head for this,” he snarls, and raises his cane to mime a beheading, making Belle have to duck to avoid being accidentally taken out. “Library cuts in favour of whatever her latest pet project happens to be. Another fucking housing block I’ll be willing to bet. As if we need more luxury apartments with views of the harbour when the average wage is less than those Louboutin shoes she was wearing last week.”

His rant, and the man himself, come to a halt, for which Belle is extremely grateful. His endless circuit had been making her dizzy. “Andrew,” she says, and the use of his first name has the desired effect and he turns his dark gaze to settle on her face. It’s been a while since they’ve been in such close quarters with each other, both having been licking their wounds and trying to get on with their respective lives, and the jolt in the pit of her stomach reminds her of what effect that look used to have on her (getting naked and prone on whatever piece of furniture was closest springs uncomfortably to mind and she battles to shut that particular image down because it’s really, really not helping).

She repeats his name, more gently this time. “I know you don’t like small spaces but seriously, we’ve only been here half an hour. We’ll be out of here before you know it so whipping yourself up into a frenzy isn’t helping matters one bit. (Nor is saying ‘whipping’ out loud but that’s firmly pushed to the back of her mind to where the images of bare, tangled limbs are currently residing.)

Gold huffs but then grudgingly and carefully sits back down. 

“Is it me or is it getting unpleasantly warm in here?”

He can feel the back of his shirt growing increasingly damp and a quick glance at Belle tells him she’s not that much better off but at least she’s in a summer dress whereas he’s wearing his usual armour of a three-piece light wool suit, like the fucking idiot he truly is. If he is not to slowly boil to death, he’s going to have make some concessions so he carefully undoes his silver and diamond cufflinks, placing them in his shirt pocket before rolling up his sleeves so they sit just below his elbow. It doesn’t make a huge amount of difference but it’s better than nothing.

“Maybe we should try shouting?” Belle asks and Gold sees a tiny bead of sweat that’s formed on her forehead and is making tantalisingly slow progress down towards the corner of one eye. He wants to lean over and lick it.

Shouting is an excellent idea, he decides, because he’s on a one-way road to hell.

“Fine. Let’s do it.”

They both yell together in an impressively loud way, blending their Scottish and Australian accents in a way that clash delightfully.

“Help. Help. Is there anyone there?”

“Yoo hoo.” (That was just Belle.)

Silence. Nothing but a deep silence. It’s clear that no one is coming to their rescue, for the time-being at least.

“Fuck.”

“Language,” Gold admonishes, with a small smirk. Belle rewards this witticism with a small smile.

“Don’t see why you have the monopoly on bad language round here,” she says.

“True,” he concedes. “Although you have to admit it sounds better said in a Glaswegian accent.”

“Fair enough. I might give you that,” Belle replies and Gold offers her a mock bow in thanks. She continues. “Does anyone know you’re here? Anyone going to – uh – miss you, notice you’re gone?”

Gold puzzles over the question for a moment. The only person who’s ever cared is stuck here with him in this hellish furnace. Belle. It’s always only ever been Belle. Dating never interested him before they’d met and now, well his life might be lonely but better that than having to re-join the dating circuit.

He casts around his mind because he can’t help thinking that Belle’s question was rather loaded. He’d gone for a bite to eat with Regina’s sister a week or so back, after the mayor had suggested he speak to her about her antiques business, but it hadn’t taken long for him to realise Ms Green was certifiably insane and had quickly made his excuses, running into Belle as he’d left the restaurant.

“Don’t think so?” He answers carefully, watching Belle as she chews on her bottom lip in that way that reminds him of when… No. No. No, no, no. Now is not the time to feel himself harden.

Christ. Just when he thought things couldn’t get any worse. 

“Not Zelena?” Belle is hesitant when she asks. “She told me you were seeing each other.”

It turns out they can.

“Ms Green? Red haired, should be locked up Miss Green? Why on earth would she say that?” Gold wonders out loud. “I did have a business dinner with her one time but it was a complete disaster. She kept laughing manically every time I said anything and you know how I hate people taking food off my plate.”

Belle hums. She’s seen Gold stab roving hands with his fork when they’ve got too close to his meal. David Nolan still sports the prong marks, proudly showing them off like a badge of honour, all for the sake of snagging a couple of French fries.

“Why would you believe her anyway?” Gold asks. His tone is so incredulous that Belle now feels foolish for falling for it.

“She told me – well she said things that…” 

She falters now, realising that she’d allowed the wave of jealousy at seeing Zelena hurrying after Gold to drown out the voice of reason that had told her at the time that there was no way Andrew Gold would ever in a million years be seen dead with a woman like that.

“Fine. I’m an idiot.”

“Yes, you are,” he says, and shuffles his legs until they accidentally brush up Belle’s. He notices she doesn’t immediately move away. He closes his eyes and breathes deeply. 

“As if I’d date someone like that.”

00000

Gold wipes his forehead, sweat making his eyes prickle.

“If we’re talking about dating, what about you and Legume. Nolan tells me you were all over each other at the Rabbit Hole last week.”

The tendrils framing Belle’s face are damp. 

“David is such a terrible gossip. He knows perfectly well I can’t stand the man. Thinks he’s god’s gift to women. Thick as two short planks. Handsy as an octopus. Never takes ‘no’ for an answer.”

“Lost the ability to speak in full sentences now, have we?”

“Too hot,” Belle replies, fanning herself. “And there’s not enough oxygen going spare to waste it on a lummox like Gaston.”

They say nothing for a moment and then Belle adds, quietly, “He’s just messing with you, Andrew. David, I mean.”

“It’s a great shame the Nolans own their own property,” Gold mutters. “Otherwise he’d see his rent tripling overnight.” Another pause. “Do you want me to kneecap Legume for you?”

Her laugh makes Gold pine for happier days. Happier nights. “Nah, thanks all the same but I can handle him.”

“That’s what I’m afraid of.”

He huffs. Gold is rather enjoying the truce that appears to have been silently drawn up between them. They’ve been warring for too long. Maybe if someone had locked them in a room together before now they’d not have spilled acrimonious words but instead talked to each other like adults and worked through their problems - cowardice (him), acting before thinking (her), sulking (him), flouncing (her), poor communication (both of them).

Belle intrudes on his thoughts.

“Wanna play a game?”

00000

“You’re cheating.”

Gold pulls a face that’s almost, Belle thinks, a pout. “I’m playing within the rules. You asked me, I told you.”

“‘S’not fair.”

“I don’t care, my turn,” he sing songs. 

They’ve been playing ‘truth or dare’ for the last fifteen minutes and Belle has revealed in no particular order, that she loves skinny dipping in the moonlight, that she hates beach sex because of the sand, she’s never had a one-night stand and if she had to fuck Mary Margaret or Regina, she’d go for the mayor.

Gold has told her nothing, the sneaky little bastard. He’d make an excellent lawyer, Belle thinks, looking across to where he’s sitting, still mystifyingly put-together although his hair is looking a little mussed and the tiny bit of skin she can see above the loosened tie (his only concession so far to the oppressive heat) is looking deliciously damp.

“Not playing anymore,” Belle says, sticking her tongue out at him. “You’re a cheater.”

“As you wish.” He stretches out, trying to ease his aching muscles, and Belle has to force herself to look away.

“Fuck it,” she hears him say. “The tie is going to have to come off.” 

When she turns to face him again, he’s tugging the knot loose and with one quick movement, red silk flutters to the floor and Gold’s undoing not just one or two, but three buttons of his purple shirt. 

“So much better,” he mutters and rests his head back against the wall of the lift, eyes closed, awarding Belle with a view of his exposed throat that sets off butterflies fluttering in the pit of her stomach. 

She’s still staring when Gold’s eyes reopen and catches what Belle knows is a look of longing. The blush that creeps up her face has nothing to do with the heat.

“Like what you see?” Gold rasps.

“Always,” Belle says.

The silence grows between them.

“We’ve been so foolish, haven’t we, Belle?” Gold asks and she shifts guiltily. “We’ve caused ourselves so much pain because we just couldn’t be honest with each other. I couldn’t even tell you that your singing around the house drove me mad because seriously, how can anyone be that badly out of tune?”

“And I couldn’t tell you that the way you have to have all your pens lined up in the exact same order on your desk irritated me intensely.”

Gold blinks. “Well what about how you have to lay out your clothes for the next day on the floor of our bedroom and then refuse to check the forecast so complain you’re too hot or too cold. Every. Single. Day.”

Belle’s look of utter indignation makes him laugh.

“Oh, that’s rich coming from the man whose boxers and ties are colour-coded.” She waves away his protest. “And who keeps his pocket squares in lavender-infused tissue paper.” 

There’s a wicked glint in Gold’s darker than sin eyes that gives Belle pause.

“Do we need to talk about how you label your lingerie?”

No, they do not.

“Work – cotton, white and black.”

Belle’s blushing. “Shut up.”

“Pleasure – silk, lace, satin. See-through. Side ties. Bows.”

“I said ‘shut up’”

“Make me. And that’s before we get on to stockings and…”

Belle is up on her hands and knees and before he can say anything else she crawls across to where he’s lying and then continues to crawl into his lap where she proceeds to grind against him, enjoying the hardness against her.

‘I said ‘shut up’” she whispers, and then her lips are on his. She feels his hands rest on her waist before she’s pulled in closer still. Gold groans and one of his hands move so he can cup the back of Belle’s head, holding her in place, fingers tangled in her hair. 

They kiss and kiss and kiss, pouring all their loneliness and mutual longing into it, tongues tangling, breath comingling. Desperate to get even closer, she wriggles in Gold’s lap until he reluctantly pulls his mouth away from hers.

“If you carry on doing that, I’m not going to last,” he breathes. He’s rock hard and he really doesn’t want to come in his pants like a randy teenager.

“Don’t care. I’ve missed you – missed you so much,” Belle replies and then moves the hand still on her waist and draws it down until it’s against her core and oh well, fuck it.

His long, slender fingers feel their way first into her panties and then one, then two push into her, eased by how soaking wet she is. And then he curls them and she’s gone, writhing against him, riding out the pleasure before dropping her head to his shoulder. 

“Trigger happy, Miss French, I’m flattered” he says, carefully withdrawing his hand. Holding her gaze, he lifts his hand, to show her how its glistening with her juices, before sucking the fingers into his mouth and licking them clean.

He’s rewarded for his efforts by his shirt being ripped from him (he’s never going to find all those buttons which are now pinging all over the floor) and deft fingers unzipping his flies and prying free her prize.

When she sinks down on him (‘I’m still taking precautions’) they’re immediately so lost in each other’s warmth and the sensations of fucking and being fucked that they don’t hear the metallic clang. But Ruby’s voice does register through the haze of lust and love.

“Belle. Are you in here. Are you alright?”

“Fucking perfect. We wait two fucking hours for them to turn up and they have to pick now to carry out the daring rescue,” Gold mutters.

She pulls off him and scrambles to her feet, Gold trying to tuck his still hard cock away with some difficulty. He winces. And on looking down at the tattered remains of his shirt and jacket, winces again. 

Belle is focusing however on the right priorities. “We’re here. Don’t leave us. Get us out.”

“We?” 

“Gold’s here too.”

Ruby’s voice comes through the solid wood door and makes both of them wince. “Are you sure you actually want to be rescued?”

“Just get us out of here, Miss Lucas.”

“Stay right where you are and we’ll have you out in a jiffy.”

Gold sighs. “Just where exactly does she think we’re going?”

Belle laughs. The lift smells of sex and of them.

There’s a clonk, clonk, clonking noise, followed by some enthusiastic hammering. Leroy can be heard giving instructions and then a small gap appears between the doors. And then a wider gap still. Until there’s enough space for the two of them to squeeze through and be greeted by what looks like half of Storybrooke. 

“Well, this is awkward,” Gold murmurs, suddenly very aware of just how dishevelled they’re looking. Belle looks very thoroughly kissed and he’s very grateful he has his jacket strategically placed.

Suddenly Belle has him by the hand. He hears her offering up thanks to all and sundry and asking Ruby if she can lock up before being dragged unceremoniously through the main doors. It's still incredibly warm. They stand for a moment in the late evening sunshine staring at each other. Belle's eyes are impossibly blue in this light. Gold is uncertain of what he should do next. He rubs his thumb and forefinger together, suddenly feeling anxious and uncomfortable. Perhaps this has all been a terrible mistake. It’s amazing what the imminent threat of death by self-combustion can do to a person’s judgement.

“Well. Uh. I’m glad we survived that escapade. I expect you’ll want to make the most of the rest of the evening so I’ll – I’ll bid you a good night.”

Belle’s face is a picture. “Stop right there,” she says, her hand against his chest to prevent him from making a hasty escape. “You don’t just walk away from me like that after what happened in there.” She leans in. “Or have you forgotten that we just made out like a couple of love struck teenagers?”

Gold could never forget. Never in a million years. His face flushes at the memory of how she'd felt, her warm skin against his. “But – you have plans.”

Belle rolls her eyes. “Nothing that can’t be rearranged. Do you want…? I mean, would you like…?"

“Yes,” Gold interrupts eagerly, taking hold of her hand. 

“I do. I would. Very much.”


End file.
